Guilt
by Mysterylover17
Summary: The Scarlet Letter. Modern day Version of Dimmesdale confronting his guilt on the scaffold. Rated PG-13 for minor sexual scenes


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Scarlet Letter. They belong to Hawthorne. For my American Lit Honors class, we had to pick a scene from The Scarlet Letter and rewrite it so it takes place in modern times. This is the second scaffold scene, where Dimmesdale is faced with his guilt! Enjoy and please R/R!  
  
"The shadows begin to fall earlier, don't they Arthur?"  
  
The minister nodded lazily. "Yes much earlier."  
  
Roger Chillingworth rested his handsome head in his long white hands and stared at the minister's troubled face keenly, all the while his dark grey eyes locked with Dimmedale's light blue ones, as though he was attempting to see right into the religious man's soul. "Arthur, are you feeling all right this evening? You look like something is bothering you. It's not your heart is it?"  
  
Arthur Dimmesdale shook his dead, causing a shock of reddish-blond hair to fall into his face. "No, it's not my heart. I am merely tired," he said pushing his hair back with one of his delicate hands.  
  
"You know Arthur, if something is bothering you, it is best if you confess it. Otherwise, everything you're holding back will begin to gnaw at your very soul, making it nearly impossible for you to live day to day."  
  
"I said I was fine!" the minister said hotly. Was it just his imagination or did his flat mate's words have a malicious undertone? Why was he speaking sweetly, while a malevolent smile was spreading across his features?  
  
'He can't suspect anything, can he? I have been so careful and yet I feel he might be on to me. No, it's impossible!'  
  
"Arthur, are you listening to me?" The physician's voice broke into the clergyman's thoughts.  
  
"What? Oh, I'm terribly sorry Roger, but I am not myself tonight. I think I need some air," he said rising to grab his suede jacket that was hanging by the door.  
  
"Do wear more than that Arthur, for it is dreadfully cold out. I am, after all, concerned for your health," Chillingworth said amiably.  
  
The minister nodded and grabbed his scarf from the rack as well. "Good night Roger," he said opening the door. "Don't wait up."  
  
Before the other man could reply, Arthur Dimmesdale was out the door and in the elevator, which would take him to the street level of his apartment building.  
  
Once outside, Dimmesdale put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, wishing he had brought his gloves. He shuddered as several snowflakes fell from the sky and went down the collar of his jacket cooling the skin underneath.  
  
Head down, body bent against the biting wind, Arthur Dimmesdale began to walk aimlessly, completely lost in thought.  
  
'How in God's name was I reduced to this? How did my life begin to spiral downward, with guilt suddenly overtaking me, controlling my every word and action? Inescapable guilt, her pleading eyes, those beautiful, intriguing violet eyes that reeled me in, forced me to loose myself in their gaze, while our bodies as well as our hearts became one. I saw forever in those soft eyes, with their gaze of pure innocence and love. How is it that I can still feel her touch upon my skin?  
'Oh God, how could I have let myself be seduced? How did I become this ghost of a man, a ghost who lives a double life? How could I be the very hypocrite that I condemn everyday from my pulpit? Oh God, how could you let me live like this?'  
  
'BEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!'  
  
Dimmesdale's thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he heard the beep of a horn and saw the fast approaching headlights of a speeding car coming toward him. He reacted quickly enough to step back onto the curb just as the car sped past the space on the street he occupied only seconds before. The driver, a muscular Hispanic man, glared at him and cursed angrily in Spanish as he raced away.  
  
The minister suddenly looked around at his surroundings, and noticed he was in the very park where he had first spoken with Hester. In his immediate field of vision was the park bench where he had held her hand and spoke such words of love and devotion. The very bench where she had suggested they go to her home, to her bed.  
  
Slowly, like a man in a daze, he strolled over to the bench and sat down in the very spot he had occupied so many years before. He draped his hand over the top of the bench, trying to remember exactly how Hester looked and felt. He could almost hear her voice speaking the very words they had shared that sunny afternoon seven years ago.  
  
"Oh Arthur, I'm falling in love with you," the melodious voice of Hester Prynne said softly.  
  
Swimming before his eyes, Arthur Dimmesdale could see the body of Hester and could see her affectionate face. He reached out and stroked the air, thinking he was stroking her cheek.  
  
"I love you Hester Prynne. I know it sounds insane, me being a priest and all, but I've watched you every Sunday from the pulpit, envying any other man that sat next to you, wishing I was someone else just so I could sit next to you and hold your hand while listening to another give the homily."  
  
"Then take me somewhere else," she purred into his ear. "I want to be yours entirely."  
  
"But Hester I couldn't, I'm a priest!"  
  
She nipped his ear playfully. "So I shall unfrock you Arthur Dimmesdale. Tonight, at seven o'clock, come to my bedroom and I shall be yours."  
  
Suddenly another memory entered the minister's mind. He was no longer sitting on the cold park bench, but was lying in Hester Prynne's bed, his body covered in sweat, her head resting on his bare chest.  
  
"That was amazing," she whispered softly against his throat. "You were amazing!"  
  
He ran one of his strong hands through her auburn hair and sighed contentedly. "You've touched my heart Hester Prynne. I don't know what I can possibly do, but I want us together forever."  
  
Hester ran one of her hands through the coarse curly hairs on his chest, tracing loving patterns on his skin. "Then leave the priesthood Arthur. We can be married, have children, live a fantasy life, full of wonder and adventure."  
  
"It sounds so simple when you speak Hester, but I have my flock to think of. I gave my life to God, dedicated myself to preaching His word."  
  
"When you love another like I love you, then you see the face of God. I do love you Arthur. God, how I love you."  
  
"I love you too Hester," he said softly. "I love you and I will never leave you..."  
"Hey Mac," a gravelly voice brought Arthur Dimmesdale painfully back to reality. "Hey Mac, can you spare a dime for a brutha?"  
  
With an exclamation of surprise, Arthur Dimmesdale realized that seated next to him on the park bench was one of the vagrants of Boston, begging for money.  
  
"Dear God! How much have you heard?"  
  
"Chill man! I haven't heard nuttin' brutha. I just seen you sittin' on this bench and I need some monies. Ya dig?"  
  
"Yes, yes I dig," Dimmesdale said reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He opened in and removed a ten-dollar bill which he handed to the vagrant. "Here, now please leave me alone."  
  
The vagrant grabbed the bill and quickly rushed off, yelled 'God bless you,' to the priest.  
  
When he was alone, Arthur Dimmesdale realized how far gone his sin really was. He practically proposed marriage to the girl and was now fantasizing about that moment, trying to recapture it exactly as it happened. Not knowing what else to do, he screamed in anguish, attempting to release his guilt and utter despair to the world.  
  
Scream after scream escaped his throat until he finally collapsed into a horrible fit of sobbing. Sobs wracked his small frame and a waterfall of tears cascaded down his cheeks.  
  
"Mary, Mother of God please pray for me! I know I am not worthy of your prayers but I am nothing more than a weak man, a sinner like the rest of humankind. Mary please help alleviate my guilt, for each time I close my eyes she comes to me again! What am I to do?"  
  
Once again his words were choked back by violent sobs.  
  
"Arthur?" A musical voice spoke gently, laying a hand on the trembling shoulder of the priest.  
  
Arthur Dimmesdale raised his tear-streaked face and saw Hester standing in front of him, one hand on his shoulder, the other clasped around their daughter's hand.  
  
"Hester, are you reality or illusion?" He asked uncertainly. "Please say you're real, that you're not some sick, convoluted phantom of my imagination."  
  
Hester quickly released her daughter's hand and cupped the minister's face, forcing his eyes to stare into hears. "Arthur I'm here. What's the matter?"  
  
He gripped her hands tightly in his own and held them against one of his cheeks. "God have mercy on my soul, on our souls. These seven years Hester, these seven long years have been torturous, filled with loneliness, grief and indelible guilt. But now you're here, you're here beside me, both of you are here."  
  
"We're always here Arthur," Hester said removing her hand from his grip and tracing a heart on his chest. "My little Pearl and I are always with you."  
  
The priest smiled genuinely for the first time since that night so long ago. "Then come, both of you, let us walk together."  
  
Little Pearl grasped her mother's and one of Dimmesdale's hands and the three of them walked together, in the cover of darkness, like a family, simply enjoying each others company.  
  
When Dimmesdale touched his daughter's hand, a feeling of warmth, which he hadn't felt in ages, flooded his body and for once, everything seemed right in the world.  
  
"Father," Pearl whispered quietly, sensing her mother wanted to walk in silence.  
  
"Yes my child?" When the words, those very words he had spoken so often, rolled off his tongue, he nearly laughed with joy when he realized he was indeed speaking to his child.  
  
"Can we do this again tomorrow at noon?"  
  
The small smile that was playing on the priest's face disappeared and he looked as though he had been struck.  
  
When he didn't answer, Pearl impatiently asked her question again. "Can we do this again tomorrow at noon?"  
  
Sadly, Arthur Dimmesdale shook his head. "Alas my child, we cannot."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because we must never be seen like this."  
  
"Why, are you the Black Man?"  
  
Hester gave a brief intake of breath. "How dare you say that to Father Dimmesdale! He is a man of God, not a man of the Devil. Tell me Pearl, where did you learn of the Black Man?"  
  
Pearl smiled an all-knowing smile that only small children can give. "I learned about him from the kids in school. They said that you mommy were with the Black Man one night and that's the reason I'm here. Is that true?"  
  
The words the young girl spoke were like a dagger in the heart of Arthur Dimmesdale. The warm, joyous feeling he had moments before, was gone and replaced once again by the cold lonely feeling of guilt. "No my child," he said noticing with some chagrin that his voice was beginning to shake. "No, what those children say is not true. You are not to listen to them, do you understand."  
  
The young girl nodded. "But when can we do this again Father? When can we be seen together?"  
  
"Judgment Day," the priest said, slightly appalled with himself for giving his own daughter such a professional answer. "On Judgment Day, me you and mommy will all stand together, hand in hand, in front of Saint Peter and the golden gates of Heaven."  
  
"When will that be?"  
  
Father Dimmesdale was about to reply when a strange bright light flashed across the sky, illuminating everything. He instantly looked up and was frightened to see a meteor, its tale blazing behind it, in the great shape of a letter 'A.' His heart suddenly dropped when he remembered he was pleading to the Virgin Mary to help him, but instead She was condemning him!  
  
"Father look!"  
  
"Yes I see it my child," Dimmesdale said not taking his yes off the 'A.'  
  
Pearl tugged on his hand angrily. "No, not that! Look, it's the Black Man!"  
  
Dimmesdale and Hester both followed the girl's gaze, to gasp in surprise when they saw the tall, well-toned figure of Roger Chillingworth staring intently at them.  
  
"I daresay, I hope I am not interrupting anything," Chillingworth said advancing towards the group. "I needed air, so I decided to take a short walk. You can only imagine my surprise to find the three of you hanging around this late at night."  
  
From the bright light of the meteor, Dimmesdale was able to see the deep-seated malevolence which marred the extremely handsome face of the doctor. His grey eyes seemed to glitter with a deep hidden fire; possibly they were aflame with the fires of hell.  
  
"Father Dimmesdale," Chillingworth said with a wicked smile. "I do not advise you to be standing out here in the cold, with your poor health. I beseech you Arthur, to come home with me, where you can rest for your sermon tomorrow. I do believe you told me it was going to be a very emotional sermon, regarding the evils of sin, am I correct?"  
  
If possible, Dimmesdale's face seemed to go a shade whiter. "Yes, you are right Roger. Tomorrow's sermon is going to be extremely taxing on the emotions. I will accompany you hone," he turned to Hester and Pearl once again. "Good night to both of you and I look forward to seeing you at tomorrow's services."  
  
Hester leaned forward slightly. "It is always a pleasure Father Dimmesdale. Remember what is in your heart tomorrow. Come my little Pearl," she said leading her child away.  
  
Sadly, Arthur Dimmesdale watched his beloved and his daughter walk away into the darkness, before surrendering himself to the care of the nefarious physician. 


End file.
